


Heal The Scars My Fallen Angel

by Wayward_Marionette



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol, Death, Depression, Destiel - Freeform, Healing, High School AU, Love, M/M, Resilience, Self Harm, Violence, recovering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-04-14 19:24:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4576815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wayward_Marionette/pseuds/Wayward_Marionette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester grew up living on the road after a freak accident left him and his baby brother and father homeless as his mother died in a house fire. His father raised his sons to kill as he tried to find the culprit of his beloved wife's death, getting his sons involved in a dangerous game. Dean learned to protect his little brother from their violent drunkard of a father who often abuses the two boys. In Dean's senior year of high school, they decide to move to a small town in Pontiac, Illinois in which Dean's depression gets worse and worse, albeit no one could tell behind that smile how broken he really was but an unlikely individual who would ultimately change his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Everything was doused in flames, Everything was gone. From the happy nights of a newly wed couple to the tiring nights of raising their first son, it all burned with the house. Dean making an apple pie with his mother, Sam sleeping peacefully in his crib, it was all in smolders. Up rose the smoke that carried the hopes and dreams of the family of the Winchesters, their lives turned upside down by that event. Up rose the smoke carrying the soul of Mary Winchester, beloved faithful wife of John Winchester, mother of exuberant sons, Sam and Dean.

 

It was eight o'clock, John having just sent four year old Dean to bed. With a goodnight kiss on the forehead to Dean, Mary shut his door, leaving it open just a crack; Dean was still scared of what laid in the dark.

Mary walked into the nursery of six month old Sam, and something seemed off to her, but she couldn't quite place her finger on what it was. It was something off putting, the place didn't feel right. The warm and cozy room she and John along with Dean when he has supervision didn't have the same atmosphere of being warm and fuzzy, buzzing with life with the softness of gentle breathing. That warmness of the nursery was now replaced with the feeling of something cynical, something evil. She stood in middle of the room and froze; it was as though time had stopped and she was looking through glass.

After a muffled scream, John ran into the room to see what happened. He stood in front of a bloodied body, noticing a fire brewing and an open window. Without thinking, he yelled for Dean to wake up and gently but urgently gave Dean his younger brother to hold, instructing him to go outside. At first Dean didn't move, too much in shock with the smell of burning and the scene being too overpowering for him to handle. John yelled once more to get Dean to be safe and it snapped him out of his stupor. He raced down the stairs, Sam clutched tightly to his chest, determined to not let anything happen to his baby brother.

Dean stood outside by his father's black Chevy Impala and made a promise he would never break.

"I'll always protect you, no matter what it takes," Dean whispered to the crying baby in his arms in which he seemed to calm down a little bit after wards, settling Dean's nerves at the same time. 

Shortly after, John came out of the house, crying obvious on his face, eyes slightly red and puffy as the firefighters charged the house. Dean didn't look, but he heard the crashing of the house and knew there was nothing left. It is a funny world, this four year old boy left with no mother, a baby never having the privilege to spend time with one of his parents, a father widowed, a family left homeless, all for the sake of a cruel cruel game known as life and the tragedies it brings with it.


	2. Chapter 2

It was always a life on the road, that was there true home. Not a house or any building, but a car. A '67 black Chevrolet Impala in pristine shape. This car had a few unique quirks, like the Legos in the air vent that rattle when it's on, the initials Sam and Dean carved into the car. These little tiny details are what made it so special and they are the little memories that made their childhood have some bright, happy moments, chances to escape the horrid ugly world they learned about too early. 

They had never lived life the way it should have been. Never ice cream at the parlor, going to a baseball together, playing in the park, learning to ride a bike, none of it. Instead of ice cream, Sam got his first beer before he was even double digits. Instead of watching baseball, Dean watched people die in front of him. Instead of playing in the park, Sam and Dean played in the shady motel room as they await their father to return. Instead of learning to ride a bike, they learned to shoot a gun and use various weapons. None of that is what they would have expected their childhood to be, but when you aren't around kids your age, you accept that it's normal to shoot people who you are told are "evil" help interrogate these criminals, save others from danger, and protect the world without anyone knowing. The details were always off and unbelievable, but being, seeing with their own eyes, they had no choice but to trust that it was real, that the world really is worse than how others perceived it. What lurks in the dark is what to be feared. What to be feared was up to the Winchester family to control. 

If the hunts and training were bad enough, the frequent fights were even worse. Sam was always the special one, he was always on his podium raised up high. Dean was his soldier, protecting Sam against harm, their father. In return for taking all the blows for Sam, at times on the ground in so much pain he couldn't get up, he still had the hope that Sam would be okay if it was him getting hurt, and that was enough to keep him going. He didn't need anything else, the only he needed was for his baby brother to be okay, and that's all he needed in the world to know that there's still something to live for in this brutal world. Sometimes he wished he wasn't alive, but if he wasn't, then who will protect Sam against the wrath and anger of their father when he was drinking too much? No one can save him but Dean; Sam had to come first no matter what it took. 

****

Dean could remember his first hunt, it was as though it was yesterday the memories are so clear. He was nine years old, had been in training for the past two years to be ready for the day he takes one of these things out on his own. John regarded the thin man as a monster, and Dean had no choice but to believe. They haggard man couldn't have been any older than his 20's, possibly still in his years of college. By the way that the mans eyes were sunken in, it appeared as though he hadn't had much sleep and was under a lot of stress. As John listed off the crimes of the man, he pulled out a knife and handed it to Dean. At first Dean didn't know what to do; he closely examined the knife and tossed it in the air, catching it by the decorated patterns of the handle, a weapon worthy of a museum, not of a young boy to currently have in his possession. 

The man pleaded to be innocent with each slice of skin peeled off his bare chest, Dean holding back tears from what he was doing, but he knew he couldn't chicken out when his father was behind him. The man was tied to the chair in an empty building at the far end of the mourning town, mourning for the death of the mayor's daughter, soon to be married off. She was only 24, her wedding to be held the next week, but that was not soon enough for her life had been cut short at the hands of another. For these crimes, john had known only one group to have committed such felonies, the group he had been involved in for a long time without ever knowing until a decade ago when the truth was revealed. It was a family of killers, but with a unique pattern. They had only killed women, but never a man. Upon much research, John discovered it was a special initiation of the cult of a family to kill a victim and to chop off one limb of the deceased, bringing it back home like a cat showing off their first kill. These limbs they had would be used to sew onto any unlucky members of their family, cursed with the burden of being female, the ones who were to be the progenitors of the family, breeding within. It was accepted as what to do for their traditions had reached back to centuries. This family may have been hidden in the dark, but there was once an occasion in which the truth was revealed to the world.

It had been from a member of the family who escaped and lived far, far away. They had produced a book and had it titled "Frankenstein". Of course, details had been changed, but the book was enough to at least to scare people, being regarded as a classic of horror books. Because this book's original copies revealed secrets of the clan, details were changed over time and the original book was lost to history. The writer of this book was executed in a grotesque manner, and albeit he was male, his limbs were used on other members of the clan who had an injury. Over time, they changed it to females only, to assert dominance over them and let the males have free reign, but male deaths within the family still happened, it was just very unheard of and seen as the taboo.

Nowadays, the members of the clan kill women only, sometimes for entertainment, other times revenge, and living up to their past, for initiation. This encounter Dean had with one of the members was for the use of initiation, a coming of age ceremony in a way. Parts of the body are to be eaten as the family gathers together to feast upon the remains, everything done very precisely to honor their past they always kept hidden from outsiders, but occasionally, word spread over time and they found out the truth about the Stein Clan and started hunting them down since. 

All of that was what Sam and Dean were taught while growing up, young and innocent, tainted by this knowledge they never asked for, wanting to continue seeing the world as happy and giving, but at times unable to. 

Dean greatly struggled with killing at first. He held the blade shakily in his hand, blood everywhere from the barely conscious "meat suit" as Dean's father referred to the Steins as. He backed away as he did so, a yell escaped from John, demanding Dean to kill him immediately. As tears streamed down his face he lurched forward and dug the blade through the heart of the man, the young member coughing up blood as life left him. 

For that all Dean got was a whack on the head with the back of his hand and as they were heading out, a pat on the shoulder, one of the rare moments his father seemed proud but wouldn't say he was. These rare moments are is motivation and are what gave Dean the drive to continue killing, taking the lives of others for their acts of injustice, to save others, but ultimately, to try and make his old man proud of him.


	3. Chapter 3

After so very many years, Dean can rest. Nothing had ever prepared him for this peace, this normalcy, it was almost too much for him to take in. The nights in the impala cruising along highways at his brother's side, father driving speedily but carefully not to damage the car have come to an end. The times he was alone and experienced such terrible pains, gone. The fear of not knowing what happened to Sammy when he ran away, gone. The days he couldn't stand the world and got his anger out with the blade on his arms, gone. All that pain, gone. With having a real house in this quiet neighborhood of Pontiac in Illinois granted him the wish he had on that shooting star when he was 11 of having a normal, white picket fence, apple pie life, it seemed almost too perfect to be true. He didn't know what made his father choose this, but whatever it was, he was thankful. 

The house wasn't anything extraordinary, but to Sam and Dean, it was like living as a millionaire in an estate. The simplicity of this house made it so perfect. It was two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a kitchen, living room, small dining room, and a backyard with enough room for a lawn maybe. It may have been tiny, but the feeling was so homely with the wooden country accent of the kitchen counters and cabinet along with gas oven, the matching tables and chairs in the dining room with the chandelier of empty light bulb crooks, it wasn't much or anything that would be considered to be what most people would want, but it was exactly what Dean wanted. The furniture of the living room may have been very low budget with a brown couch he sank into when he sat on it, the coffee table scratched up, TV Stand looking to only be pieces of wood nailed together, but he couldn't ask for anything more. 

Since there were only two bedrooms, his father would, of course, get the master bedroom, and to make sure Sammy would always be safe, he allowed him to have the other bedroom so he can lock the doors if needed. Having no option, he decided he'd sleep on the couch, knowing he can handle the wrath of his father on his drunken nights. With the benefits of having a fridge, it also had the disadvantages of his father storing more beer, making conditions be worse, but he put those thoughts to the back of his mind for now. 

Currently, all he needed to do was make sure all the weapons are stored away safely, away from sight. He didn't have to travel hours anymore, didn't have to put guns to an innocents' or criminals' head anymore, didn't have to chase down anyone anymore, didn't have to hide anymore, didn't have to escape from the authority anymore, didn't have to use false identities anymore, didn't have to do anything anymore. With no more responsibilities, life can be easy and he can retire from his past life at last.


	4. Chapter 4

Tomorrow, Dean would know it as his first day of school. Of course, he's been to school before, but never was it permanent, he never took it seriously, dated tons of girls, sometimes more than one at the same time, was a player, but he was a protector, a hero. If anyone were to touch a hair on Sammy's head, Dean would have them pinned to the wall in the blink of an eye. He wasn't just protecting Sam, not even close. He was protecting everyone like the hero he was. The monsters in the shadows, those despicable shadowy people he was taught to hate from early on in his life, that is what he was saving everyone from. Multiple times he had met a few in the schools he's been to, and almost immediately, it was a war. The hunter battled the hunted to the death, the hunter always winning, albeit sometimes escaped the battle scarred and scathed, returning back to his family like a true soldier, the solid expression like a statue sculpted in the Renaissance, beauty with the backstory that is to be concealed from common knowledge, unknown to the world. Long at last, he's free from all that. Long at last, he's been through hell and back for the last time. Long at last, there's tranquillity of the peace he never experienced before. 

Sam and Dean got on the bus almost missing it if not for the fact they were able to run three blocks in less than 15 seconds, as was what they were trained to do in need of a quick escape. Dean went to the back and everyone immediately cleared way for him, as though he was some sort of God. At this point, he was far from bring a God anytime soon. 

Sam, taking the safer option, settled for the first seat in the front of the bus, hiding like a mouse. He had said he can protect himself, but even Sam knew it would be a struggle, protecting himself from the world, not just a monster or two that he learned to do after a suprise attack when he was running away from the motel rooms again. It was a tough battle, the scars still remain, but it had taught him how to fight for himself, now relying on that strength he had used years ago for to now save him when needed. 

Dean was in the popular crowd from the start, Sam was in the nerd crowd from the start; it was inevitable, it was how things always have been. No one questioned Sam too much for he did not talk to too many people, but Dean had dealt with the most. 

"What's those scars from?", asked the girl who was holding Dean's muscular arm, bright eyes staring up at him, appearing to him to be another pretty girl with no knowledge or common sense, an easy pass. 

"Just some battle scars, nothin too special," Dean replied nonchalantly with a shrug, making it sound like he was a protector. The girl gave him a look of awe, as though he was a strong fighter to always rely on and save her. Dean may be there to save her if needed, but he couldn't assure her he'd be there to stay by her side, he was too much of a wanderer, a drifter, for staying loyal for that long, especially a girl like her, an airhead wasn't someone he could see himself with for too long. 

Even though Dean feels that way, he still flashed her a smile in response to her look of awe at her God of a man, feeling special just being in his presence. The smile wasn't a real smile, he hadn't smiled real in forever, for years and years now, but over time, he's learned to master the fake smile and make it perfect to every last detail from how big the smile is, how much he'd crinkle his eyes and make them shine, to how warm and friendly he'd make it seem, it became an exact science to him. 

All of a sudden he saw it. His fake smile faded the moment he saw it and he couldn't help but stare with lips slightly parted, looking like a model. It drew the attention of many but he couldn't help it, there was no stopping it. Staring back at him was a pair of bright blue eyes, shining with the grace of heaven and the ethereal sky never ceasing to stop being beautiful, a tired expression but one with something Dean couldn't quite place his finger on, like it was an unknown source of enlightenment, an expression he could never forget. His hair was cut short but a mess in the front, fluffy and parts sticking up like he ran his fingers through it and nothing else. Dressed in a beige sweater with a blue tie and white button down dress shirt underneath, he was clothed with a pair of black slacks still having neat fold lines in them with shining black leather dress shoes that looked to be polished often. It was an unusual attire for a public school, but the true mystery was the angelic innocence he gave off, his features smooth like he wasn't human, like he was something higher superior, an angel. Dean had known that angels did not exist, but this man is the closest thing there'd ever be to an angel on earth. 

After a few seconds, he noticed he'd been staring for too long, and both of them looked away in unison at the same time, continuing to walk past each other, but Dean had learnt what that expression was; acknowledgement, like Dean was laid bare for the man to know all about him. From just a single glance, the man, learned everything about Dean, holding the knowledge of the universe behind those celestial eyes, hiding so much, so much known from so little time, it was almost hard to believe, but Dean knew that it was true for what else could be the truth behind those eyes that have seen the dawn of time?


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

Who was he? What was his name? How old was he? What grade is he in? Does he have any siblings? What clique is he in? What was he hiding? Why was there that look in his eyes? All those questions rattled in Dean's head for the rest is the school day all throughout math, history, and English thinking about that mysterious individual, the one with the piercing eyes, the one who saw everything from a view of nothing, the one with the knowledge too old for his age, the one that wouldn't leave Dean's thoughts and clouded his mind. He may not know who he was, but Dean knew that there was something, he had to discover the glint in the blue eyes. 

 

After boring English class that he flirted with the teacher, sweet talked all the girls, and to any cheerleader yet to have his number, he prepared to head to the cafeteria. Unlike most students, Dean didn't have the map of the school in his head yet and he wandered around to find it. After a few minutes gone by, he headed to his locker, deciding to skip lunch. As he approached it, he noticed the boy again. The starry-eyed boy from the heavens, the starry-eyed boy who sees everything, the starry-eyed boy who saw right through Dean to the core, the starry-eyed boy who saw Dean's soul. He did not move from where he was, he only clenched his belongings a little tighter to his chest but Dean knew what he was hiding: fear.

 

The mysterious boy knows too much about Dean, a silent conversation they both had with the one glance they had shared. As Dean took a step toward the boy, he took a step back. It was almost a sort of dance they had, dancing to the rhythmic song of fear, a dance not taught through lessons but through feelings. As the dance continued, the tempo picked up to the point the synchronized foot steps were stopped by a wall. Stunned, the boy accidentally dropped his belongings. 

 

"Castiel Novak... " Dean murmured to himself, reading off of one of the thick binders for AP Calculus. "Like Isaac Novak?" 

At that question, Castiel tilted his head, looking dazed like a puppy. "you mean Issac Newton...?" he asked, with a small laugh.  

Dean's face turned red as a carnation but he shrugged it off by saying "Eh it's whatever,"  his attitude notably different from his appearance.  

"Uh huh..." says Cas as he gathered his belongings. Once he collected his books and binders together, without asking, Dean grabbed Cas by the wrist, gently but with enough strength to pull him up, and his hand wavered from his wrist to his hand without him consciously knowing at first, too lost in Cas's eyes, eyes manifesting the blue of the sparkling sea. Cas was too busy focusing on what Dean had done, the gentleness you'd use on a child combined with the strength of a guardian was something he had not experienced before and he took the moment in, longer than he should have, he noted. Their fingertips touched, Cas able to feel the rough and haggard battle ridden hand of Dean, Dean able to feel the soft delicate hands of Cas. Complete opposites, but in that moment, they have become one. 

 

This moment couldn't have been more than a few seconds but it like it has been minutes now. Dean recoiled and combed his hand through his hair, sheepishly laughing out of nervousness as Cas hastily apologized multiple times. He told him it was okay and not to worry about it, but these few seconds would forever change their lives, albeit they did not know it at the time. 

"You probably have heard my name around but I'm Dean Winchester, " said Dean with his winning smile, full of charm. 

"Castiel Novak, junior, and you?" 

"I'm a junior too, maybe we might see each other around sometime?" 

"Let's see," Cas said calmly with a smile before walking away. This meant something but at the moment, Dean didn't understand and was still going over the previous events he had if feeling so connected to Castiel. _Castiel, what a unique name,_ Dean thought go himself. _It's graceful enough that it fits him so well._ Dean strolled way to his next class class honors history, entertaining himself with thoughts of Cas. 

 Dean isn't the type of student many would think deserve to be in an honors class, but history was his strong suit. He studied long, hard hours, every bit of history for how it could help them on hunts and how many major deaths in history were caused by the Stein Clan. From Anne Boleyn to  the Salem witch trials, these had all been influenced by the Stein Clan. Even a great deal of folklore and stories of the old can be traced one way or another to the Stein's. They're a clan of messy barbarians, their tracks are everywhere, it was bound for history to pick up their traces where the hunters left off. History had been carefully written, it couldn't reveal the truth of the Stein's for the Stein's would only rewrite it.

To prevent such catastrophic events, a secret group named the Men of Letters were the recorders of history and they knew the secrets of the Stein Clan so as to protect the world, the history of everything was to be recorded, first the true history then the marked history, the safe history. This safe history had all the real events, only difference was that the Stein's were not to be mentioned. To find the real history, that would require unmasking the Men of Letters, a small group that died out with workshops scattered the globe. The group remains a secret but their major discoveries are common knowledge to hunters everywhere.

Thus with this knowledge of history, Dean was put into honors after scoring the highest on an exam he took for his classes to be decided since no grades or anything can be transferred over from a past school he attended. At the time, Dean Winchester wasn't the name used for his identity could never be the same. Traces like those are too high of a risk for a hunter. For now, this new life is to eradicate all traces of the past that may still linger within. 


End file.
